


Sanity

by foramomentonly



Category: Glee
Genre: Klaine SOTU Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:13:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foramomentonly/pseuds/foramomentonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaine meet at a plastic surgeon's office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanity

“I can’t even believe I’m here right now,” Blaine grumbles, throwing himself dramatically into a seat in the small waiting room as Sam heads to reception.  
“You don’t have to be,” Sam says, collecting his insurance card back from the young man behind the counter along with a clipboard with a few forms attached. He seats himself next to Blaine. “Look, I know you don’t approve of this, you’ve made that totally clear, so I don’t really even know why you’re here.”  
Blaine softens instantly at Sam’s defensive tone and replies, “I’m here because you’ve always supported me. Now it’s my turn. Even if I think what you are considering is batshit crazy.”   
Sam doesn’t look up from his forms, but Blaine sees his mouth twitch as he fights back a smile.   
As Sam completes his paperwork, Blaine’s gaze wanders around the room. The walls are a soft purple; generic, framed photographs of soft pink flowers hang in perfect lines; and four plush chairs are arranged close together on both sides of the room, a small coffee table stacked with magazines in the center between them. The only item distinguishing it from any other doctor’s office is a small poster on the door next to the reception counter featuring a beautiful, serene woman that reads, “Inspiring Confidence Through Cosmetic Surgery” and the name of the practice.  
The same door opens minutes later, and a nurse in pink scrubs calls, “Sam Evans?”   
Sam smiles lopsidedly at Blaine as he rises.  
“Want me to go with you?” Blaine asks, but Sam shakes his head and follows the nurse through the door.   
Blaine sits back in his chair and huffs out a deep sigh. He’s known since high school that Sam has insecurities regarding his appearance. Back then, the man was so convinced he was only valued for his looks that he became a bit obsessed with maintaining a perfect body. But Blaine had no idea that Sam was so self-conscious about his full lips until a distant relative of Sam’s left him a small sum of money in his will, and Sam casually mentioned looking into lip reduction surgery. Blaine had laughed, then clamped his mouth shut as Sam threw him an offended look and launched into a monologue about a lifetime of assholes hurling jokes at him about fitting balls in his mouth, and nicknames like “DSL” and, inexplicably, “trouty mouth.” Blaine personally thought this sudden interest in cosmetic enhancement had more to do with the string of unlucky relationships Sam had endured over the past year, coupled with his discovery at the gym of “a slightly grey pube,” but no amount of reason nor flattery could talk Sam out of booking an appointment.  
“Excuse me,” a soft voice from a seat down called to Blaine, “but can I ask what the hell your boyfriend thinks he’s doing in a plastic surgeon’s office? I only ask because you seem less than enthusiastic about it.”  
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Blaine responds without turning his head. He and Sam get this quite a bit, and he is more irritated by it than Sam is. His gorgeous friend’s constant and, no doubt, intimidating presence at his side is Blaine’s primary excuse for the yearlong dry spell he is currently enduring.  
“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”  
Blaine finally looks toward the voice, and his mouth drops open dumbly. Sitting a mere two seats away from him is the most beautiful man Blaine has ever seen. Long legs stretch out before him, covered by tight, dark jeans. A blue button down hugs his small waist, a gorgeous, designer scarf draped around his neck in lieu of a boring tie. Light brown hair is swept up and off his forehead in an elegant swoop, and deep blue eyes and a pouty pink mouth stand out against pale skin. Blaine also notices a small scare across his neck, and resists the urge to trace it with his tongue.  
Blaine realizes he’s been staring, and fumbles to respond.  
“No, it’s fine. I’m gay!” he shouts – literally shouts – and immediately his cheeks flood with embarrassment. “I mean, Sam is straight, but I’m gay. One hundred percent gay. And single. So single. I’m babbling.”  
The man smiles playfully and says, “Good to know. And so am I. On both accounts.” Blaine blinks stupidly at him, and he elaborates. “Gay and single.”  
“Ah.”   
Blaine pauses, not sure if he should continue what is fast becoming the most humiliating conversation of his life, but the man is leaning toward him over the empty seat that separates them, and his eyes are filled with mirth, so Blaine decides to risk further mortification.   
“So,” he says, “this is going to sound like such a line, but what is a man like you doing in a plastic surgeon’s office?”   
Blaine is rewarded with a toothless smile and a soft laugh as the man ducks his head bashfully.  
“My friend finally, finally got her implants removed. She got them in high school when she was young and craved any kind of attention she could get. She’s here for her post-surgery consultation, and then we’re celebrating with retail therapy and mojitos.”  
“Sounds great. Maybe your friend should talk to my friend.”  
The man presses himself further over the seat, and Blaine realizes he, too, is practically falling into the empty space between their bodies.  
“Maybe she should,” the man says, a playful lilt evident in his breathy voice. “Maybe you and Sam should join us for drinks.”   
He scans Blaine’s outfit, taking in his colorful bow tie, fitted cardigan, and gleaming shoes, and Blaine thanks a god he doesn’t believe in that he resisted the urge to dress down today.  
“Or maybe,” the man continues, “you and I should leave Sam and Santana at some bar and do some retail damage of our own.”  
Blaine isn’t sure if it’s the musical cadence of the man’s voice or maybe the way he bites the flesh of his bottom lip as he surveys Blaine for a reaction, but suddenly his head is spinning, his breathing is rapid and shallow, and he has lost all control over his inhibitions as well as his grasp of common decency. He reaches out the few inches it takes his fingers to close around one of the ends of the man’s scarf – Seriously, when did they get this close? – and runs it slowly through the loose circle of his hand, eyes burning into the pools of blue before him. In a low voice he whispers, “I could do a lot of damage with you.”  
The man bursts into laughter, head thrown back in abandon.  
“Oh, wow,” he gasps, “that really was a line. And a disturbing one, at that.”  
Blaine blanches as the full weight of both his horribly alarming words and his highly inappropriate molestation of a complete stranger hits him.  
“Ohmygod,” he mumbles, slouching down in his chair and covering his face with both hands. “Oh, god, I want to disappear.”  
He hears the man laugh again, then rustling, and just as he registers the warmth of a body beside him long fingers curl around his wrists and tug his hands away from his face.  
“It’s all right, really,” the man says, now occupying the chair directly next to Blaine. “I’ve known since ‘What’s a man like you doing in a plastic surgeon’s office’ that you’re game is a bit off. Let’s start over.”   
He smiles warmly at Blaine and offers his hand. Blaine’s shoulders slump in relief and he sits fully upright in his chair, grasping the man’s hand eagerly.  
“My name’s Blaine.”  
“Kurt.”  
They smile dopily at each other until, with a thundering bang of the swinging door hitting the reception counter, a tall woman with dark, shrewd eyes strides into the room, seeking out Kurt. Her piercing gaze travels from him to Blaine and back to Kurt, eyes narrowing and a scowl forming on her lips.  
“Oh, Christ. When’s the wedding?”


End file.
